


Why Would You Even Need That Many Potatoes, Dude

by notkiva



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Fluff, Funny, Grocery Shopping, M/M, Potatoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 09:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3604593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notkiva/pseuds/notkiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is your average, apathetic and underfed grocery store clerk and Gerard absolutely needs potatoes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Would You Even Need That Many Potatoes, Dude

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a one shot I wrote up after seeing a prompt on Tumblr. Just got back into writing and haven't written/read frerard for a while but I thought it'd be cute.

It's another average day at the Stop'N'Shop. My manager, Marty, has yelled at my for like five different reasons and I haven't even taken out one of my earbuds long enough to get the jist of what I'm even in trouble for. Probably something about stacking cans wrong or leaving the labels facing the wrong way, as if that's going to stop these Jersey soccer mom's from buying four cases of the closest thing that even vaguely resembles chicken soup for their snotty kids. Literally snotty, too, like apparently it's the season for sickness and we've gone through 3 shipments of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup in the last week. Other than that, so far I've counted only ten people in here today and that's why I'm testing how long I can go without having to actually interact with other people and let the not-so-sweet sounds of Joy Division take me away for a while. I wonder if Marty will notice that I've been mopping up the same spot on aisle 7 for the last fifteen minutes. I swear to God, like four different kids have thrown up on this same spot and now there's this vague outline of kid barf that just won't go away. 

I'm debating whether I should keep mopping it or just ditch the effort and eat gummy worms in aisle 5 when Marty's meaty hands grab my collar from behind. Marty is a stout, beefy guy who always looks like someone just embarrassed him and his hair is flattened down by something that I swear is chicken fat so I try not to take him very seriously. 

"Iero, we need you on stand 3." Spittle flies from his lips and I don't even hear what he's saying, but I can read his lips and my inward groan is unreal. If there's one thing I hate in this world, it's being a clerk. Do you even understand how much I hate the dull drone of scanning items and asking people how their day is? Who even cares, anyways. Nobody really cares how your day is going, you're just expected to say 'good, you?' and that's it. There's no "well today I feel kind of like I was flushed down the toilet multiple times and then coated in shit." because if there was there would be discomfort and God forbid anything in real life be, you know,  _real._ Marty is giving me those 'I'm about to go 3 shades darker red because you're not listening' eyes though, so I nod and drop the vomit crusted mop back into the bucket. I'm taking off my headphones and hanging them around my neck as I hear Marty say in his manager voice, "-and keep an eye on the store, I'm leaving for some errands." Which really means 'it's Greta's break. You know, the one I stalk? Yeah well it's her break at the bakery next door so I'm just gonna go stare at her for a few minutes without her knowing." And I gotta chuckle a little because, c'mon Marty, really? She specifically told you to leave her alone, man. 

I trudge over to my stand, signing into the register and taking a deep breathe. At least it's slow today and I can probably skip out early. Not that I have anything better to do, but being at work isn't exactly my idea of an awesome Friday night. 

Fifteen minutes later the only people I've delt with were one old lady buying 45 cans of cat food and a guy who looked like he straight up just killed his whole family buying a deck of cards. So a while passes by and I'm idly playing with the paper bags to my left when I notice him. To put it plainly, he looks like trash. But hot trash. If that's even a thing. I don't know if I'm just into strange, trashy looking folks or if he actually just pulls off the homeless look so well that I'm mistaking it as beauty. This guy, this trash guy, has super greasy black hair and he's wearing a Bad Religion sweater that's seen better days. But there's just something about his pasty skin and pointy noise that's got my attention, so I figure I could just stare at him. Not like there's anything better to do.

This dude, or at least they look sorta like a dude, has been examining the potatoes for like ten minutes straight. He picks up a potato, examins it, and then moves onto the next. He's not even putting them in his little basket or anything. And then he does it. He stuffs a fucking potato in his pants. Not like his pocket or anything, just straight down the front of his pants. Nobody else is in the store except me and him and I have no fucking clue what to do. At this point what is your first line of action? It seems a bit awkard to be like 'oh hey I've been watching you for fifteen minutes because I really dig your hot trash look, but you've just gone and stuffed a potato down your pants so don't do that' so I just keep watching instead. Besides, this is kind of funny. I automatically rename him potato pants guy, it sounds a lot better than trash guy. 

27\. 27 potatos down this guy's pants so far. I have my fist stuffed in my mouth so I don't laugh and I can't believe he hasn't noticed me staring at him and trying to hold back my laughter. The way he does it is just so golden. Pick up potato, study potato, look around, stuff potato directly into pants. Also, how has he not seen me at my stand? Does he think nobody is manning the store? And why so many fucking potatoes, man, like how many potatoes do you eat? Potato Pants Guy is up to 32 potatoes now and I honestly have no idea how his pants are still holding together, much less how he's going to make it out of the store without them bursting open. At this point I'm laughing so hard to myself that I've decided I'm gonna help this guy escape with the potatoes, because why not? 

"Dude," his head snaps up at the sounds of my voice and I have to stop myself from yelling with laughter at his face right now. "Dude," I say again as I walk over to him. "You gotta stop." Now that I'm closer I see that the Potato Pants Guy actually is super pretty. And I mean pretty, with long eyelashes and pink lips and light eyes. So maybe not a dude. Maybe not a girl either. Who even know nowadays. Potato Person is blushing feriously now and it's pretty cute, to be honest, so I offer them a smile. "I have a lot of questions, but I guess my first question is do you have all the potatoes you need?" I suppose that's a weird question to be my first but I legitimately want to know if he has them all or if he needs more. I can't really imagine why anyone would need over 30 potatoes, but I'm working on being less judgemental. 

"This is so fucking embarassing." Is all they say. After a minute of me thinking of how to proceed with the conversation at this point, they look like they want to just die. I'm actually kind of dragging it out just to see what they'll do, but Potato Person's cheeks are increasingly getting more pink so I just laugh lightly. 

"I don't know what to do other than help you get out of here with all those," I point at Potato Person's pants. "so how about we get out of here and then you can explain over nachos." Potato Person nods and looks super relieved so I smile to myself and scope out the nearest exits. Then, with a smile, Potato Person grabs another potato and drops it in their pants. This person is hella weird, but I kinda dig it. 

Using the back door is probably the most ideal way to sneak out the potatoes without getting weird looks so I take their hand and start leading them through the aisles towards the back. I should proably clock out and lock up, but I could care less right now. What I really want to do is just get some answers. 

Once through the back doors, I signal Potato Person to follow me across the street to my favorite nacho bar. They waddle as best they can, potatoes daring to fall out left and right. When we finally sit down, I let out the loudest laugh and proceed to try to stop laughing, only to laugh even harder and longer until finally I wipe away the tears in my eyes and look at the person sitting across from me.

"Man... What the fuck?" Potato Person is laughing too now and pulling the potatoes from their pants and setting them on the table. They smile at me and hold out their hand.

"I'm Gerard." Hm. Gerard. I take the adam's apple and lack of makeup and take a slim guess that Gerard is indeed a guy, although you never know. So this Gerard fella is actually  _really_ beautiful under the warm dim lights in the booth and I have to hold myself back from kissing his hand like a cheesy 1920's silent film . 

"Right, well, Gerard, you want to explain why so many fucking potatoes?" I figure I'll just get straight to it, especially if he is- straight- because there's no point in wasting time doting on his eyes when there are more important matters to tend to. Such as the 35 potatoes sitting on the table, fresh out of his pants. Gerard just smiles at me, making me a little nervous because it feels like there are wild bats in my chest. He reads my name tag, his eyes squinting and his noise scrunching. Oh god, he's too fucking adorable. 

"Well,  _Frank,_ Mr. 'I'm not going to give you my name and force you to read it off my nametag,' to be perfectly honest these are for an art piece I'm working on and I lost my wallet a few days ago." Ah so he's one of those artsy types who steals potatoes in the name of creation. I am so sold on this guy. Leaning closer and putting my 'I'm interested' face on, I shake my head at him in disbelief. 

"You know, that's the weirdest shit I've ever heard?" He laughs again. Oh fuck, I'm already addicted. "Please, tell me more." And so he does. In fact, he tells me for two hours straight about his potato art piece.

Then, he asks me to check it out at his place where I do more than check out the piece- in fact, I check Gerard out. All over. We have sex. And then we laugh. And then I decide that work isn't that bad, if it led to meeting the most interesting and beautiful person named Gerard Way. 


End file.
